Hokus Pokus (The Sisterhood: Rules of the Game, Book 2)

by Fern Michaels

  By all indications, a mover and a shaker with the wardrobe to match.

  Married Rebecca Barnes. Classy wedding. Five hundred guests. Champagne fountain. Truffles. Tons of wedding presents. Honeymooned in Hawaii for a month. A child born of the union nine months later named Amanda who was now six years old. The marriage ended three years ago, an amiable parting, according to the press. He moved into the Watergate Apartments. The wife, Beka, stayed in the family home with the daughter. The home being a wedding present from Justice Barnes.

  Maggie scribbled a note to herself to ask Judge Easter if the couple had a prenuptial agreement. While Tyler Hughes came from a good family—father a surgeon, mother a principal in a high school—there wasn’t an unlimited supply of money the way there was with Beka Barnes. Even if Tyler made some really serious money during his lobbying days, it wouldn’t last forever with his lifestyle. Where did Justice Barnes’s payoff money go? Exactly how much was it? More than a million? Two or three, perhaps? Which was another way of saying he’d be ripe to engage in a little blackmail scheme if he had already spent the big buy-off and the lobbying money was dwindling.

  Maggie scribbled another note to herself. Does he pay alimony and child support? With his high salary, she suspected he’d be paying through the nose. That would also hurt his bank account.

  Maggie reached for her cell phone to call one of her favorite snitches, Abner Tookus, who also happened to be one of the best computer hackers in the business. For a price, he’d get you anything you needed. Well, almost anything.

  “Abner,” Maggie said when the snitch picked up after the fourth ring. “I need a favor.”

  The voice on the other end of the phone was high-pitched, almost a squeal. Maggie knew for a fact that Abner hated to talk, preferring to send messages. “The kind that pays or doesn’t pay? You get what you pay for, Miss Reporter.”

  “How about an IOU?”

  Abner scoffed.

  “Okay, how about if I sleep with you at some point?”

  Abner scoffed again.

  “Okay, how much?” It was Maggie’s turn to scoff when she heard the amount. “Let’s do this, a quarter of the amount and I sleep with you next month after I wind this down. Yeah, of course I’ll put it in writing. So, is it a deal?”

  “What do you need?”

  “The financials on Tyler Hughes. Works at some think tank in the District. He was married to the chief justice’s kid, Rebecca Barnes by name. Lives at the Watergate. Get me his credit report, too. Any and all clubs he belongs to. Who he associates with on a regular basis. I don’t know why I say this, but I think the guy might gamble. In other words, I want everything.”

  “Not for one sleepover you don’t. We need to renegotiate. Every other weekend for two months.”

  “You’re nuts. I don’t even sleep with my boyfriend that much. Two sleepovers and a hundred bucks. That’s my final offer,” Maggie said, knowing full well she wouldn’t hold up her end of the bargain. Abner was just jerking her chain. Abner always settled for a nice dinner at some secluded place that had real tablecloths and candles on the table. Abner was a true friend.

  “When do you need this?”

  “An hour ago. ASAP. Give me a time, Abby.”

  “Oooh, I love it when you call me Abby. Gives me goose bumps and I can feel my eyelashes curling upward as I speak. So how come you and that boyfriend of yours don’t have much sex? Can’t he get it up? Are you still with that guy who has the cats?”

  “None of your damn business, Abner.” Then Maggie broke the connection to stare down at the stack of papers on the kitchen table. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was missing something.

  A minute later she was back online searching out case histories of women and children who had made use-of-the-secret underground railroad that had taken so many to safety over the years. While she couldn’t find those who were spirited away, she did find histories of those who had come back and ended up in jail, put there by their spouses. To their credit, none of the women spilled their guts. Two of them were still in jail because they wouldn’t talk. That had to say a lot for Justice Barnes and her operation. Maggie could now see why everything was so secretive, why one leg of the journey was just that, with the person in charge not knowing anything about the next stop or the one that came before. Nameless people dedicated to a cause, out-of-the-way safe houses volunteered by other dedicated people in their quest to keep the underground running smoothly.

  This story, if it ever got written, Maggie knew, would make a hell of a Pulitzer Prize. But, since she wasn’t really working that side of the fence any longer, she tossed the thought out of her mind.

  It was early evening before Maggie found a way to contact Tyler Hughes via email. Everyone at the think tank had a private email account. She typed out several messages, then deleted them before she finally came up with one she liked. How long would it be before he responded, if he responded? Probably at least a day.

  Maggie blinked when she sat back to look out the window. She blinked again; it was totally dark outside. She could see the lights on Connecticut Avenue through the kitchen window. She closed up her laptop, wondering what she was going to do with the rest of the evening. She’d seen a deli around the corner so she might as well head out to stock up on a few provisions. She’d go ballistic if she didn’t have coffee in the morning.

  Maggie checked out the refrigerator. A bottle of ketchup. Ice cubes in the freezer. She’d starve unless she developed a love of ketchup.

  Maggie debated a moment, wondering if she should take her heavy backpack or just her wallet. She finally opted for her wallet and left the apartment, careful to lock the door behind her. She wouldn’t be gone more than an hour, so there was no sense in lugging the heavy bag, plus she would be carrying groceries on her return trip.

  Her mind racing in all directions, Maggie rode the elevator to the ground floor without seeing a soul. She walked out into the warm, dark night to head for the corner. She spotted a neon sign—Jade Pagoda—so she stopped to order a full dinner she would pick up on the way back from the deli.

  The hour she’d anticipated turned out to be closer to two because the Jade Pagoda was jammed to the rafters with people waiting to be seated. She sighed as she sat back on a padded chair to wait for her take-out.

  It had been a hell of a day. And it still wasn’t over and she wanted to cry so bad she had to squeeze her eyes shut to stop the flow of tears.

  Ted Robinson kicked the door shut behind him and whistled for Minnie and Mickey. When they didn’t appear as they usually did he ran through the apartment. It would be just like Maggie to steal his cats. He kept whistling and from somewhere he heard a sharp hiss and then both cats started to snarl as they bounded out from under the bed. Their food was late, something Maggie usually took care of. “Get used to it, she’s gone,” he grumbled as he made his way to the kitchen where he scooped out hard food into the cats’ bowls. The cats watched from the doorway before they turned and left. “Don’t eat, see if I care!” Ted shouted at them.

  In the bedroom, Ted did his best not to look at the queen size bed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that it was neatly made. There was nothing out of place. Even the bathroom was neat and tidy. How empty it all looked, how unlived in. He further tormented himself by looking in the closet.

  Did he make a mistake by booting Maggie out? Was Jack Emery right? Where did she go? What the hell was he supposed to do? Let her make a fool out of him? Betray him? She had secrets, he’d always known that, just the way he had secrets, but he never let his secrets interfere with their relationship. He wasn’t sure about Maggie. He’d always shared. Maggie did not like to share. It was more than that, though, he could feel it in his gut. Where the hell did she go? He shouldn’t care but he did care.

  In the kitchen Ted opened a Diet Pepsi and swigged from the can. He hated Diet Pepsi but Maggie drank it by the gallon. Did she go to a hotel or to a friend’s house? Maybe she was bunking with her brunch
partner, Lizzie Fox. The name alone left a bad taste in his mouth. It really rankled him that Maggie would rather have lunch with the glamorous attorney than with him. Especially since they usually spent Sundays together unless Maggie had plans. Lately, she always seemed to have plans, now that he thought about it.

  Where the hell was she? Ted sat down on one of the kitchen chairs as he tried to figure out where Maggie might have gone. For the most part, she guarded her personal privacy. He knew he had embarrassed her at Wintergreen’s, which didn’t say much for the kind of person he was. No, Maggie wouldn’t go to Lizzie, she’d be too humiliated. Maggie was thrifty, she wouldn’t want to spring for a hotel room unless she could put it on her expense account.

  Suddenly, Ted’s eyes narrowed. Expense account. The Post. The corporate apartment. Yeah, yeah, that’s the way she would have gone. Every reporter at the paper had a key. Hell, he even had one. Where was it? The kitchen drawer. He yanked at the drawer, found the key on a red string. Well, so what?

  If he went to the apartment Maggie would probably kill him or at the very least, cripple him. Assuming he was right and that’s where she’d gone. Well, there was only one way to find out.

  Ted was out the door in minutes and in a cab. “Dupont Circle. I’ll let you know where to let me out. Just drive.”

  He needed a plan. Jack Emery always said a guy needed a plan when it came to women. Like he was going to believe anything that asshole said. Everyone knew plans never worked.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ted tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Let me off at the corner.”

  Ted’s heart thumped in his chest as he tried to convince himself he just wanted to make sure Maggie was okay. And maybe to apologize. He walked along, barely noticing the warm spring evening. Not many people were out and about, probably because everyone was home getting ready for the workday tomorrow. Normally he and Maggie watched old movies on Sunday night just like an old married couple.

  He stopped in front of the building, hesitated for a bare moment, and then went indoors and rode the elevator to the sixth floor. He found the apartment, knocked loudly three times. When there was no response, he pulled the red string from his pocket and fit the key in the lock. He called Maggie’s name several times as he made his way around the small apartment. He saw her suitcases in the bedroom and her backpack in the kitchen. He told himself she probably just stepped out to get something to eat because she never, as in never, went anywhere without her backpack. Which begged the question, should he look inside it?

  Ted fought with himself as he weighed the consequences if he did just that. Well, he was a reporter, it was his job to investigate such things. Without a moment’s hesitation, he opened the backpack and pulled out the thick wad of papers. He whirled around to look for a printer. There it was on the kitchen counter. An old one that could have passed for a breadbox. He blinked when he saw the name on the stack of printouts. Tyler Hughes, Justice Barnes’s ex–son-in-law. So his instinct was right. He folded the papers and jammed them into the back of his pants under his windbreaker.

  Ted continued to paw through Maggie’s belongings. He pulled out a cell phone and looked at it. He had noticed a cell phone next to the laptop. Why the hell did she need two cell phones? Well damn, this was like no other cell phone he’d ever seen…

  The fine hairs on the back of Ted’s neck stirred. Instinct warned him to get out of the apartment. He dropped the mysterious-looking cell phone into the pocket of his Windbreaker before racing to the front door. He opened the door a crack to peer up and down the hallway, he closed and locked the door, and ran to the EXIT sign to take the stairs to the lobby. When he reached the door that led to the lobby he opted to take the stairs to the basement level. All thoughts of apologizing to Maggie for his behavior in Wintergreen’s were forgotten. Now all he wanted was to get back to his own apartment to go over what he’d just stolen.

  “Now, Jack, that’s a plan,” Ted chortled as he made his way down the street, his head down, a grim smile on his face.

  Chapter 7

  Jack Emery clicked the remote control to change television channels. He’d already gone through all the cable shows and there was nothing of interest, so now all he had left were the three prime networks. Another reason to hate Sundays. Maybe he should have another beer and pack it in for the day. He looked down at the coffee table in front of him where the special phone rested—when it was out of his pocket, it was never out of sight. When it rang, which wasn’t all that often, it was usually Nikki. She hadn’t called yet today, so maybe he shouldn’t go to bed just yet. The beer, though, was definitely needed. He got up, gave his pajama bottoms a hitch as he trotted out to the kitchen.

  It was times like this, when he was alone with his thoughts, that the enormity of his situation and his commitment to Nikki and the others hit him like a sledgehammer. He was a district attorney for Christ’s sake, sworn to uphold the law, and he had tossed all that aside and went at it full bore. What was that saying, fools go where angels fear to tread? Well, he was no fool and he sure as hell was no angel, so what the hell was he? A stupid, dumb schmuck seemed an appropriate title.

  Jack was twisting the cap off a long-neck when the front doorbell shrilled to life. He looked over at the clock on the stove. Nine o’clock. No one came here on a Sunday night at nine o’clock. Harry was the only one, aside from Mark Lane, who ever visited him at Nikki’s house, and he knew for a fact that Mark was in New York. He’d spoken to Harry a half hour ago and he said he was going home to bed. For sure Ted Robinson wouldn’t be visiting. Then who? Go to the door, stupid, and see who it is.

  Jack looked through the peephole just as the bell shrilled again. He blinked. Maggie Spritzer! And she was dancing from one foot to the other. She probably had to go to the bathroom. He opened the door and stared at her. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall.”

  “Huh? What? Why should I care where your bathroom is?” Maggie brushed past him. Even from where he was standing he could tell the reporter was twitching from head to toe.

  “The way you were jiggling around out there I thought you had to use the facility. What the hell are you doing here, Maggie? Reporters visiting district attorneys is not a good thing. I hope you’re here to tell me your boyfriend got hit by a Post delivery truck and has amnesia. Tell me that’s why you’re here. Want a beer?”

  “No. Yeah, yeah, give me a beer. No such luck on Ted getting hit by a Post truck and getting amnesia. If I thought that would work, I’d give it a shot myself.”

  Jack handed over a long-neck and waited until Maggie took a healthy swig before he asked again why she was visiting.

  Maggie squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I moved into the Post condo that they keep for VIP interviews. While I was out to get some dinner someone broke in and took all my printouts on Tyler Hughes. And…And they stole the encrypted phone. I almost had a heart attack. I didn’t know where else to go. I thought about going to Lizzie but figured you were the best person. I’m sorry, Jack.”

  “Son of a bitch! Who knew you were staying there?”

  “No one. Well, my boss, he gave me the key. The lock wasn’t tampered with so it had to be someone who had a key. I was only gone about two hours.”

  Jack’s brain sizzled. “Does Ted have a key?”

  Maggie swigged again as she danced from one foot to the other. “I knew you were going to ask me that. Not to my knowledge. My boss, Liam Sullivan, wouldn’t have told him I was there, even if he asked. I asked him not to. Liam thinks we had a lover’s quarrel, that kind of thing. I know I wasn’t followed. I made sure of that. I suppose it could have been a random break-in, but then why didn’t they take my little pouch of jewelry I keep in my backpack? Maybe it was someone on Justice Barnes’s side. It doesn’t have to be Ted.”

  “If you believe that for even one nanosecond, I have a couple of bridges I can sell you on the cheap. It was Ted all right and we both know it. Now he’s got his nose into it and he will play it out to the
end. Plus he’s pissed at you big-time.”

  “Well, whose fault is that? Not mine. I told you when you ordered me to go to Wintergreen’s, and you did order me, Jack, that I always try to spend Sundays with Ted. He had a right to be pissed to find me having lunch with Lizzie Fox. What he saw in Wintergreen’s was Reporting 101. Every damn red flag in the world went up for Ted to see. I would have done the same thing he did. Tough if you don’t like hearing that, Mr. Big Shot! Right now I need your help and we need to go into damage control.”

  “Wrong! The first thing we have to do is call Charles. I bet you never saw that cranky Brit with his knickers in a knot, did you? It ain’t pretty, Maggie.”

  Maggie squared her shoulders. “Oh, boo hoo, too bad, too sad. I can always quit if you or Charles think I’m at fault here. I’m a victim! What part of that don’t you see?”

  “No, he won’t fault you, he’s going to want you killed. Rubbed out—86’d, fitted with concrete boots and dumped in the Potomac. What part of that don’t you understand?” Jack asked as he tried to imagine Charles’s reaction to Maggie’s tale of woe.

  Maggie gulped but she held Jack’s gaze, her eyes defiant. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Maggie demanded. “Call him.”

  “I’m going to call him when I’m damn good and ready and not one minute before. Why didn’t you go to Judge Easter? Why me? You need to pick your friends more carefully, Maggie. Ted’s got you in a whole shitload of trouble.”

  Maggie struggled to drag up all the disgust she could muster into her voice. “Yeah, like you pick your friends. I’m talking about Nikki here. Look at yourself before you start judging me. I heard the stories about the lengths you went to way back when you were trying to nail Nikki and the others. You’re no better than I am, so get off your high horse, Jack Emery.”